


Divergent Behaviour - A Mister In-Between Spin-Off

by mad_mary_kidd (madmarykidd)



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Angst, Consensual Sex, F/M, Fluff, Heterosexual Sex, Smut, Synths, also a bunch of made up shit, bisexual Danse, in which Danse unbends a bit, injuries and infections, spoilers for Paladin Danse personal questline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-03
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2018-12-10 19:10:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11698068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madmarykidd/pseuds/mad_mary_kidd
Summary: Part of the Messin' With Mister In-Between story arc, which stars my Sole Survivor K. C. (Casey) Raines and his (eventual) boyfriend, MacCready.Paladin Danse receives some life-shattering news, and due to a strange sequence of events, the only person around with whom he can share the burden is Curie. Try as he might to hate her on principle, she makes that very difficult for him by just being herself.Het-partnered fluffy romance, with eventual smut.





	1. Idle Hands

**Author's Note:**

> Don't expect much in the way of exciting fight scenes, the stakes are pretty low as far as that goes as this is a fluff piece that got out of hand. That said, I think it's sweet and I hope you enjoy it too! The story starts around the time when Casey and Bobby leave to go around the settlements together, after Casey finds out the truth about his son, and shortly before the war with the Gunners. 
> 
> I don't tend to write het-partnered romance much, so if anyone has any constructive criticism please leave me a comment! 
> 
> Danse finds himself with nothing to do. True to his nature, he finds something to occupy himself.

“Oh, what a charming name,” said the young woman, and there was nothing about her face and demeanour to suggest her words were anything but genuine. Her eyes were wide and clear and green, looking at Danse with such openness that it almost hurt. It wasn’t that he felt under scrutiny, far from it; it felt more as if she adored and was fascinated by everything she saw in him. It was a little unnerving. “Tell me, _do_ you dance?”

Danse was aware that Knight Raines was watching him blush and stutter with amusement. From anyone else, Curie’s question would have been sarcastic; Danse knew what sarcasm was, and how to identify it. He had heard a lot more of it since arriving in the Commonwealth and spent a good bit of time with these Wastelanders. What escaped him was why it was a source of amusement. Curie, however, seemed to genuinely want to know if Danse’s name might be indicative of such skill; worse, she looked hopeful about the answer.

It had never in his life occurred to Paladin Danse to feel insecure about himself. He was a soldier; he knew what had to be done and he did it. He had never cared what other people thought of him, because he was nothing if not an exemplary member of the Brotherhood. There was little to find fault with, because he did everything by the book. So why did he suddenly feel as though his body was too large, too unwieldy, too clumsy? Why did words suddenly elude him, in front of this tiny, pretty woman? She was hardly terrifying; Danse had faced down deathclaws single-handed before now, and Curie looked as though she could barely attack her breakfast.

“I’m afraid I don’t,” he admitted, sure that she would be disappointed at his absence of skill.

To his surprise, her smile widened, crinkling her green eyes. Why did he care that they were green?Why had he even noticed? “But of course, we are always learning new things, yes?”

“Curie is just learning how to navigate the world in her new body,” Knight Raines explained. Danse blinked.

“Your new _body_?” He echoed, confused.

Curie smiled, eyes twinkling. She seemed to bubble over with enthusiasm with everything she said. “Oui monsieur. I was a Miss Nanny robot for many years, until my friend Casey ‘elped me to transfer myself into a synth body, zat I might better explore the Commonwealth in search of ze men of science,” she said. “With the ‘elp of Doctor Amari, of course. It is wonderful, but verry strange at the same time.”

“I see,” said Danse, suddenly stiff.

“Come on, Danse, don’t be a dick about it,” said Raines, rolling his eyes. “Can you put your Brotherhood mentality away and be polite for five minutes?”

“Do you not like synths, Monsieur Danse?” Curie asked; far from offended, she seemed only politely curious. Danse had a feeling his answer wouldn’t upset her either way - not that he cared about offending her any more.

“It’s _Paladin_ Danse,” he said, not looking at her. Raines sighed.

“Forgive me, Paladin Danse,” Curie corrected herself. “I did not mean to offend.” She looked genuinely regretful; it was a shame she couldn’t actually feel regret. He gave a curt nod, wondering why he was bothering to be polite to a robot.

“Come on, Curie,” said Raines, throwing an arm around her shoulders. “Never mind Captain Tin Can. Let’s go find you some gum drops, huh? You haven’t lived until you’ve tried those.”

“Oh, but Casey,” Curie protested, turning her wide green gaze on the Knight. “Who is zis Captain? I would like to meet ‘im.” She looked around, as if expecting to see someone else approach. Raines grinned.

“I mean Danse,” he explained. “I’m just…” he flicked a grin at Danse, who scowled back at him. “I’m just being flippant. It’s like a joke. Tin Can, because he always wears that Power Armor.”

Curie laughed at this. “Oh, I see, a joke! Casey, you must tell me more jokes - “

“I’ll forgive your insubordination once and once only, Soldier,” Danse interrupted her. “Once more, and you’ll be on report.” With this he turned on his heel and walked away. All was silent for a while behind him, until he was almost out of earshot - then he heard Curie giggle. He felt his face turn red at the sound, but couldn’t bring himself to turn around. 

 

~*~

 

Raines left with MacCready the next day, in spite of Danse’s protests that they had much to do on their mission. The man was aware that Elder Maxson was waiting for the holotape he had retrieved from the Institute, but he seemed to have lost all interest in taking the fight to them. In addition, Danse had found it difficult to get Raines’ attention ever since he had hired that grubby mercenary; that would have been bad enough on its own, but the Wastelander was unbearably bad-tempered and rude, and had made several unprovoked remarks in Danse’s direction. He was beginning to wonder if he’d made a mistake by promoting Raines so quickly, if he insisted on spending so much time with Wasteland trash like MacCready. If it weren’t for his orders to accompany the Knight, Danse might have considered going back to the Prydwen alone.

Well, his Power Armor needed some work, and Raines had a nice Power Armor station set up outside his house. Might as well do something useful while he waited. With Raines already gone with MacCready off to Red Rocket, Danse wondered if he should ask first; he was Raines’ superior, but that didn’t give him the right to use his things without permission. He prevaricated for a while, but decided ultimately to ask Garvey. The man seemed to be in charge at Sanctuary, so his permission seemed the next best thing to asking Raines himself.

 

~*~

 

“Sure, I don’t think the General would mind,” Garvey said when Danse explained his reasoning, with a small smile that Danse wasn’t sure how to interpret. “Gotta keep your rig in tip-top condition, right?”

“That’s exactly it,” said Danse, relieved that Preston seemed to understand. “I appreciate it. Oh, and it seems that my mission out here has been put on the back burner for a while, so if there’s anything I can do to assist around here, you have but to ask.”

Garvey smiled at that, and nodded his gratitude. “The Brotherhood, supporting the Minutemen? I could get behind that. Thank you, Paladin. I’m sure Sturges could provide you with a list, if you want to help.”

“Outstanding. As soon as I’m done with my Power Armor, I’ll go and see what he needs.”

Danse strode back to Raines’ house, outside which the Power Armor station stood. The radio was playing some trumpet-y jazz number; Danse didn’t really care for the music but the others seemed to like it a lot. There was always a radio playing somewhere around here. He backed his Power Armor into the station, and let himself out of it. There was a toolbox to his left, and a cabinet full of mods that Raines had discarded on the wall. Danse helped himself to the tools, but left the mods; Raines kept his own Armor in good condition and upgraded it when he could, but Danse’s Brotherhood suit was state of the art, probably more so than Raines’. Not to mention that using the station and Raines’ tools was one thing, but taking and installing someone else’s mods was quite another. No, his suit only needed fixing, so he stuck to that.

About an hour later he heard a gasp and something glass shattering behind him; he turned to see Curie in a white lab coat, pressing her fingers to her lips, looking down at the beaker she - _it_ \- had just dropped. “Oh, my goodness,” she muttered, cheeks pink, bending down to clean up the mess.

Danse almost stood up to help her - _it!_ \- but stopped at the last minute and made himself roll his eyes and get back to work instead. Ridiculous synth couldn’t even hold a beaker. And they said synths were supposed to be indistinguishable from humans. Why had Raines placed his chemistry station so close to his house? It would be a miracle if the place was still standing when he eventually returned, if Curie was this prone to accidents. Why had Raines kept her around? Was it just because of her medical knowledge? Surely he could have downloaded her into a terminal instead.

“Excuse me, Paladin Danse?” she asked. Danse sighed.

“Yes?”

“I’m so sorry to trouble you, but would you mind passing me zat broom?” Curie asked, not quite meeting his eyes. “Please?” she added. “I do not wish for Dogmeat to get zis glass in his paws, you see.”

“Useless synth,” Danse muttered, but straightened to fetch the broom anyway. “Here.”

Her expression turned suddenly horrified and she gasped again, green eyes meeting his as he handed her the broom. “Oh, monsieu- I mean, Paladin Danse, the glass did not hit you, did it? I am so sorry, please, let me ‘elp - ”

“It didn’t get me,” said Danse irritably. “Just clean it up and be more careful next time.”

A stab of guilt hit him when she looked at him as if he’d kicked her, but he shook it off. She was just a synth! A robot, nothing more. She _couldn’t_ feel hurt at his words. It was just a facial expression that the Institute had programmed into her, a line of code. A complicated one, sure, but still just that and not real emotion. She bowed her head.

“Of course, Paladin Danse. I am so sorry to ‘ave troubled you.”

He looked at her as she clutched the broom; she really did look upset. He looked around; Sturges was hammering on something not too far away, but he seemed absorbed in what he was doing.

“It’s all right,” Danse muttered, unable to help himself. He felt faintly ridiculous saying it. Curie looked up at him, with a cautious smile. She had a very pretty face. For a synth, he amended. He’d thought that about her before he’d known she wasn’t human; it would be pointless to argue that it wasn’t still true. Nothing had changed about her, physically. He frowned.

 

~*~

 

One thing you could say about Sturges, he knew how to play to people’s strengths. As he’d promised Garvey, once Danse had finished working on his suit, he’d got back in it and gone to find the mechanic to see if there were any odd jobs he could do to while away the time until Raines returned. Sturges had raised his eyebrows as if amused, but told Danse he could patrol Sanctuary if he wanted.

“Cain’t never have too much security these days,” he said, with a jovial smile. “It ain’t exciting, but it’ll help people feel safer.”

Patrol was reserved for new Initiates in the Brotherhood; it had been a long time since Danse had had to perform such a lowly task. It wasn’t even as if Sanctuary was in a particularly dangerous area. But, the Brotherhood was here to help the people of the Commonwealth, and Danse had sworn to do just that. Raines might not be back for weeks, and Danse would not be representing the Brotherhood well if he just sat and waited, so he accepted his assignment with grace. He had been hoping for a mission to hunt for food, perhaps, but patrol was better than tending the mutfruit trees.

For the next few weeks Danse dutifully patrolled the borders of the settlement. The weather was turning hot; summer was rolling around fast. Danse tried to make sure he was drinking plenty of water, but it got hot very quickly inside Power Armor and he was beginning to feel it a little.

He completed yet another circuit of the perimeter and stopped, pulling off his helmet. His hair was plastered to his head with sweat. His circuits began and ended not far from Raines’ house, where Curie could often be found at the chemistry station. Even she seemed to glow a little in the heat; she had removed her lab coat and hung it on a nail. She was holding up a flask and frowning at it; perhaps the heat was interfering with her experiments.

Danse approached Mama Murphy’s Pink Flamingo Bar and Café, helmet under his arm. A few people sat under the large umbrellas, fanning themselves. Danse frowned. Shouldn’t they be at work? Raines had allowed them to remain at his settlement in exchange for their labour, surely. The Brotherhood would not have stood for such laziness; were they under Danse’s command, they would all be on report. The Minutemen could certainly do with a little more discipline, but it wasn’t up to him. If Garvey was happy for people to take up resources while doing nothing to earn them, that was his issue.

“What’ll it be, kid?” Murphy asked, in her slow, strung-out drawl. The woman looked perpetually stoned. Danse didn’t like her much, but the others seemed to hold her in great esteem. He had heard about her so-called predictions, and he didn’t buy a word of it. She was just an old lady who’d used too many chems, and revelled in her semi-royal status - Raines had even made her her own personal armchair. Still, she had given him no reason to be impolite.

“I’ll take a water please,” he said, and counted out a few caps for her. She had a little refrigeration unit behind her bar, hooked up to the same generator that powered the neon letters of her sign.

“Sure thing.” She handed him a cool can of water and watched as he punched a hole in the top. “You’re a good kid, you know. You shouldn’t feel like you can’t relax. You’ve earned it. Unbend a little, drink a beer.”

“Imbibing alcohol in high temperatures is ill-advised,” Danse told her. “Not to mention that drinking is frowned upon in the Brotherhood of Steel.” Murphy just smiled a slow smile.

“I didn’t mean now,” she said. “Just whenever. Let yourself enjoy life a little. You never know when the Wasteland’s gonna throw you a curve ball.”

Danse blinked at her. “I’m sure I’ll manage,” he said, as politely as he could.

“You’ll have to figure your life out without them, one day,” she said. “I’ve seen it. Figure out how to be happy on your own now, it’ll make the whole thing a lot easier.”

Well, this was the first time he’d been treated to one of her prophecies. She sounded so convinced; as though she were telling him what the weather had been yesterday. He frowned. “With respect, ma’am, you have no idea what you’re talking about.” She didn’t know the first thing about the Brotherhood.

“Sure,” she said. She didn’t seem offended by his reply at all; she even seemed as though she’d been expecting it. “Wouldn’t hurt to have a little fun now and then though, would it?”

“I have fun,” said Danse, before he realised he had no obligation to defend himself to this - this _crazy_ old woman. “Excuse me,” he said, and left the stall. He had intended to sit down and have a break, but he didn’t want to sit where Murphy could try to accost him again. Instead he put his helmet back on and took off for another circuit of the perimeter of the island.

 

~*~

 

It was getting unbearably hot inside the Power Armor now; it was approaching midday. He had completed another two circuits, each slower than the last, reluctant to stop for water. His head was beginning to throb in time with his heartbeat, and he could feel the heat radiating off the inside of the Armor. His vision blurred; what was he doing, again? Right, yes. Patrolling. _One foot in front of the other, soldier._

“Paladin Danse?”

He sighed at the sound of the French accent. What did she want now? Had she dropped another beaker?

“I’m a little busy,” he tried to say, but his tongue felt thick and heavy in his mouth. He cleared his throat. “I’m a little busy,” he said again; this attempt was not much better than the first.

“Paladin Danse, I really think you should come out of ze sun for a little while,” said Curie. She looked concerned. Dimly Danse realised that she wouldn’t speak to him unless it were necessary; he felt another little stab of guilt at his behaviour toward her, but quickly pushed it away. He shook his head - it ached, and it took his vision a second to catch up. His stomach turned over slowly.

“That won’ be necessssary, thank you.” He knew it was becoming necessary, but he was damned if he was going to let a robot order him around. He knew how to take care of himself, but his duties were important and could not simply be abandoned.

“Please, Paladin Danse,” she said, approaching him and reaching out a hand to touch his arm - quickly she drew it back as if burned - the metal of his Power Armor must be too hot to touch. “You must remove your armor!” she cried. “It is much too ‘ot to wear it in zis weather! You will suffer from ze heat stroke!” She finished, but Danse could barely hear her. His vision blurred again and went black.

 

~*~


	2. Contact

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Paladin Danse receives a strange message, and Curie wants to travel the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A one-off and a new chapter of the spin-off in one day, phew. Hey, maybe one day I'll update my main fic. Stay tuned...

When he awoke, something was blowing cool air over him. It took him a moment to remember what had happened; his head still ached, and his lips were parched. He was lying down in one of the houses, in one of the few rooms with only one bed. He looked up and saw one of Raines’ desk fans; who would have believed the thing would actually still work. Danse had dragged hundreds of the damnable things across the Commonwealth at Raines’ behest, and the man had destroyed most of them for parts; Danse was mildly surprised that there was a whole one left in the Commonwealth. He tried to sit up, but a jagged bolt of pain shot through his head. He lay back with a groan.

“Paladin Danse,” said a voice, in a soft French accent. He had been hoping for anyone but her. He closed his eyes against the pain. “‘Ow do you feel?”

He felt her approach, but she did not get too close. “Thirsty,” he said, voice scratchy.

“‘Ere, drink this,” she said softly. He opened his eyes and she was handing him a glass of water. “Try to drink it slowly,” she added, with a cautious smile.

He accepted the glass, not quite able to meet Curie’s eyes. “Thank you.”

“I am surprised zat you would allow yourself to become so dehydrated,” she said, sitting down in a nearby chair as he sipped his water. “Did ze Brotherhood not teach you how to cope in ze hot weather? Surely zey do not encourage their members to sacrifice their ‘ealth for their duties?”

“They don’t,” said Danse, shortly. “Quite the opposite. I merely failed to recognise the warning signs.” This wasn’t quite true; but admitting to this felt slightly less shameful than admitting that he had ignored the warning signs.

Curie nodded sympathetically. “I am told they can be hard to spot,” she agreed. “You must ‘ave been too hot in the Armor though?”

“Where’s my Power Armor?” Danse asked suddenly, trying to sit up again and almost dropping the glass. Curie stood up to ease him back down to the pillows, but stopped short of touching him when he scowled at her.

“Do not concern yourself, it is just outside,” she said, sitting back down. “It ‘as not suffered so much as a scratch.”

“How did you get me out of it?” Danse asked, in spite of himself. To his surprise, she smiled.

“Do you know, I forgot for the briefest moment zat I am no longer a Miss Nanny,” she said, clearly amused at her own mistake. “I tried to link up with the suit to unlock it! I ‘ad to call Codsworth to ask him to release you from it, and Monsieur Sturges and Monsieur Garvey brought you inside,” she explained, pronouncing ’Sturges’ with a soft ‘g’. “I ‘ave been using zis drip to rehydrate you with a saline solution.” She indicated his arm, and he looked down. There was a needle in the crook of his elbow, held in place with a piece of tape, and an attached tube that ran all the way up to an IV bag hanging from a nail hammered into the wall.

“Was that really necessary?” He asked.

Curie’s eyes widened. “But of course, monsieu- Paladin Danse,” she exclaimed. “Dehydration is very dangerous, and should not be taken lightly.”

He was being churlish, and he knew it. “Thank you,” he said, avoiding her eye. She waved a hand.

“Please, think nothing of it. Now, you must remain ‘ere for ze next twenty-four hours, to make sure you are well again.”

“That won’t be necessary, I am perfectly alright,” he began, but Curie held up a hand.

“Please,” she said, more firmly than he’d ever heard her speak before, and certainly to him. “Monsieur Garvey, ‘e told me zat you would argue, and zat I was to inform you zat you must remain at rest, on orders of ze doctor. ‘E said zat as a Paladin of ze Brotherhood of Steel, you will understand ze gravity of these orders.”

Danse frowned. “And who is this doctor?” He asked. Curie beamed.

“Why, I am ze doctor, of course!” She said. “As ze only one with medical training, Monsieur Garvey ‘as appointed myself as ze resident medic of Sanctuary ‘Ills, with all the authority of ze post. And in medical matters, I outrank even General Casey.”

Danse was pretty sure that this appointment was a very recent one. An hour old, at most. His frown deepened. He didn’t have to like it, but rules were rules, and they were there for a reason. “Very well,” he conceded gruffly. He was on Minuteman territory after all. He had been given orders to help the people of the Commonwealth, and had gladly taken a job from Garvey. It would not befit him to pick and choose orders.

Curie looked more than a little relieved, but she smiled. “Excellent! Now, I shall be just outside, so should you require anything, please call me.”

He sighed as he watched her leave. He hated being stuck here with nothing to do. He needn’t have worried, as it wasn’t long before he fell asleep.

 

~*~

 

Curie arrived again just after the sun went down, with a tray of food for him.

“Paladin Danse?” she called softly, touching his arm lightly to wake him. “I ‘ave brought you something to eat.”

He opened his eyes to see her pretty green ones, and a tray containing a can of purified water and a bowl of something that smelled - well, edible. He pushed himself up against the pillows, ignoring his still-pounding head. “Thank you,” he said, allowing her to set it in his lap.

“Eet is radstag stew,” she explained. “Madame Long made eet. I ‘ave tried it, it is verry good.” Danse nodded, and picked up the spoon. She was right, it was good. Better than it smelled, which counted for a lot.

“This is delicious,” he pronounced. “I must thank Mrs. Long.” Curie beamed.

“Wonderful. I will pass along your thanks.”

Danse looked up and blinked at her. “I appreciate it,” he heard himself say. Curie twinkled her thanks and left him to eat.

It wasn’t as if she was… _created_ in the Institute. Just a General Atomics robot in a synth body, one that had had its Institute chip removed. She seemed harmless enough, but it didn’t mean she couldn’t be rewritten. Danse shuddered.

 

~*~

 

About two weeks later Preston came to find Danse, with a message. Danse frowned at him as he took the piece of paper.

“A message? From whom?”

“Someone named Scribe Haylen,” he said. “That’s all I know. It came over the Minutemen frequency, but I’m not sure which settlement it came from.”

Why had Haylen not contacted him directly? Danse took the paper and shook it open.

 

_Paladin Danse,_

_Please meet me at the last position we were stationed together as soon as possible. I must inform you about a personal matter of the utmost importance and secrecy. I understand that this is an unusual request, but for your own safety this matter must remain unofficial which is why I have contacted you through the Minutemen rather than the usual channels._

_I also understand that you will be suspicious of this message, as I would be were I to receive it, so to prove that this is genuine, let me list the contents of the safe at our last outpost: a ten millimeter pistol and two boxes of corresponding ammunition, a gold pocket watch, two fusion cores and three personal holotapes, recorded by myself._

_Please, Paladin, I cannot overstate the importance of what I have to tell you._

_Scribe Haylen_

 

Danse’s frown only deepened as he read. “And you don’t know which settlement this came from?” He asked. Preston shook his head.

“I’m afraid not,” he said. “Sturges said that the woman on the other end seemed… Well, he said she sounded desperate. Whatever it is, it seems she really needs to get ahold of you.”

Danse nodded. “Thank you, Colonel.” He didn’t really know if this was Garvey’s actual rank, as theloosely organised Minutemen seemed to have only two: Minuteman, and General, but Garvey wore the coat of a Colonel so it would have to do. Garvey nodded and left to go back the way he came, so apparently Colonel was acceptable. Danse stared at the paper, written in Sturges’ unnecessarily flowery handwriting.

It certainly seemed genuine. She had listed exactly the contents of the safe at the Police Station in Cambridge but had not mentioned it by name. What on earth could she have to tell him that the Brotherhood should not know about? For his own _safety_? Whatever it was, Danse decided, he must investigate but remain vigilant.

He stood up from his desk, folding the paper carefully and placing it inside his flight suit. It would not do to have it lying around. He gathered a few small provisions and stowed them in his Power Armor, checked his laser rifle and ammunition and got ready to leave Sanctuary and head for Cambridge.

As he approached the bridge leading out of Sanctuary, he heard running feet behind him, and Curie calling his name. He stopped, sighed, and turned around.

“Yes?”

“Monsieu- Paladin Danse! Where are you going? I must insist zat - ” He held up a hand to forestall her.

“Please, I am quite well enough to travel,” he assured her. “I am quite recovered, and I’m only meeting a… a colleague, nothing more. I shouldn’t be more than a few days.”

A frown darkened Curie’s sunny face, and she looked disappointed. “Paladin Danse,” she said. “Your ‘ealth is important, and you still need rest. I…” She stopped, looking uncertain, and then seemed to make up her mind. “Yes,” she said, in a much more determined tone of voice, “I must accompany you.”

Danse made an exasperated noise. “Curie, that won’t be necessary,” he began, but now she held up a hand.

“I must insist,” she said. “As your doctor. And… Casey ‘as promised to take me out into ze Wastelands to find ze men of science, but ‘e as not ‘eld to it. As ‘is superior officer, I must ask you to carry out zis task.”

“I am on my way to meet a member of the Brotherhood of Steel, and you want to come with me? Curie, you are a synth. They _are_ the ‘men of science’, but they would want to destroy you.” He had no idea why he was suddenly so concerned for her safety. Really, he ought to take her; she was not an Institute synth, but a robot in a synth body. Surely she would provide valuable information to the Brotherhood. He could have agreed to take her to her ‘men of science’, and deliver her to them gift wrapped, but something in him was repulsed at the idea of using her trusting nature against her.

“Then I will accompany you for most of ze journey and wait for you while you meet your colleagues,” she said, unperturbed. Danse was torn. He could use another person on the journey, and over the weeks he’d grown to - if not like her, then at least be able to stand her.

“Are you not of more use here?” He asked, without much hope.

“Zere is little need for me ‘ere,” she said. “It is verry peaceful, and sickness and injury are rare in Sanctuary. It is much more likely zat you will be injured or succumb to ze ‘eat stroke again, and in zat case, I may assist you.” She looked determined, and then as if she were struggling with something. Finally her expression broke into one of near desperation.

“Please, Paladin,” she said. “I am so bored! I wish to make myself useful, but zere is little ‘ere zat I can do. I ‘ave spent eighty-three years underground awaiting release, and I am verry eager to see ze world. I promise I will not get in ze way.”

Danse considered. In spite of his membership to the Brotherhood, he was not much for technology and things like locked terminals eluded him. She could prove useful. He frowned. “Very well,” he said at last. “Inform Colonel Garvey, and we will move out immediately.”

Her face lit up. “Oh, thank you Paladin!” she cried, and just pulled herself short of embracing him. “I will speak wiz - did you say ‘e is a Colonel? I will speak wiz Monsieur Garvey right away.” With that she turned on her heel and skipped away. Danse stared after her, shaking his head.

“Pick up a gun while you’re there,” he called after her.

He was only human. In spite of her status as a synth, he would have to be without eyes not to see that she was pretty. He would keep this to himself, of course. He had found her commentary on every little insignificant thing annoying to begin with - ‘ _look! A butterfly!_ ’ - but honestly it was rather endearing. The way she saw the world was as a thing of beauty, with joy to be found everywhere. It was… Refreshing.

She returned quickly, all smiles, with a ten mil pistol. “Monsieur Garvey gave it to me,” she said, stowing it inside her coat. Danse watched as she put it away, feeling dubious.

“You know how to use it?”

“But of course. Casey showed me ‘ow.”

He didn’t think she’d be much help in a fight, except maybe afterward, but kept this to himself.

“Of course I used to ‘ave my own weapons when I was a Miss Nanny,” she said conversationally as they set off across the bridge. “But since zey are gone I ‘ave ‘ad to find other means to protect myself. I do not enjoy ‘aving to kill things, but it seems zat it is often necessary in zis world, to defend myself and others.”

“That much is certainly true,” Danse agreed.

 

~*~

 

They made camp just outside of Lexington, after dispatching a few feral ghouls that reared up out of the encroaching dusk. To Danse’s surprise Curie proved herself a dead-eye shot; he supposed it shouldn’t be that hard to believe. She was a machine after all.

He found a half-crumbled house with the door torn off its hinges, and checked it thoroughly before motioning Curie inside. It was still only late summer, but as the sun sank below the horizon Curie began to shiver. Danse frowned at her.

“You feel the cold?” He asked, unable to help himself. She blinked.

“But of course,” she said. “My body works just like a human body, and I interpret ze signals of ‘ot and cold ze same way you do.” She pulled her coat around herself. “May we light a fire?” She asked, but Danse was already pulling together bits of wood and scrap.

“We need to cook those radstag steaks,” he said, as though that were the whole reason for the fire, and not that he didn’t want Curie to spend all night shivering. Curie hadn’t wanted to shoot the radstags; Danse had rolled his eyes, but even so he had refrained from opening fire until it had become clear that they would attack. She had looked at them as they lay on the ground, her eyes full of sorrow. He found a wire trash can, placed it underneath where the ceiling above had already caved in and lit the fire, laying a piece torn from an old shopping cart over the top to place the steaks on.

“You are so resourceful,” said Curie, clearly impressed. “I am learning so much already!”

Danse walked his Power Armor into the corner of the room and let himself out of it, and stretched. A flare of pain in his shoulder; an old injury. It twinged sometimes after a long day in the Armor. He placed his other hand over it and manoeuvred it in circles, returning to the fire.

“Are you ‘urt?” Curie asked, looking up from the steaks.

“No,” he said. “Just a muscle ache. Nothing serious.”

“I am trained in the therapeutic use of massage,” she informed him, a serious expression on her face. “I might be able to ease it a little for you…?”

“You used to massage people?”

“Yes.”

“… As a Miss Nanny.”

“Yes. My masters used to make use of zis skill regularly; zey said I was verry good at working out ze kinks. Zey used to spend many hours bent over their desks, and zey often suffered with aching backs.” She didn’t really know how to make jokes, and when she tried it was very obvious, even to Danse. He had no other option than to accept that she was telling the truth; still, he couldn’t imagine being massaged by a robot equipped with a flamethrower and a buzz saw.

“… Thank you, no.”

In all honesty his refusal was only partly because the injury didn’t really require it; it had been rehabilitated at the time, and now only rarely gave him trouble. Admitting to himself that Curie was pretty was one thing, but a shoulder rub would be far more intimate than he was prepared to allow.

“As you wish.” She didn’t seem offended, but looked back to the steaks, lifting up the corner of one with a fork she’d found. “Zey smell delicious, do zey not?” she asked, looking up at him with a smile.

“Worth killing the radstags for?” He asked, intrigued to find himself genuinely interested in her answer. Curie looked thoughtful.

“On balance, I would ‘ave to say yes. Not just because zey are delicious and full of protein, but because zey were verry aggressive.” Danse couldn’t argue with that, so he didn’t.

They flipped the steaks to finish cooking them, and sat down next to the fire to eat them off the forks. Once she’d finished hers, Curie gave a huge yawn.

“Oh, excuse me! I am verry tired,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “Do you mind if I go to sleep?”

“Is it strange?” Danse asked, before he could stop himself. “Sleeping?” Curie smiled.

“It is not so strange as you would think,” she said. “When I was a Miss Nanny, I used to ‘ave to go into standby mode sometimes, while my fuel source was changed. It is not so different from zat. Ze dreams are sometimes a little strange, but on ze whole I enjoy zem.”

Danse’s eyebrows shot up. “You can _dream_?” He asked, incredulously.

“Yes. Once I was transferred into my synth body I began to dream while I slept,” she said. “It was a little… disorienting. Frightening. But only to begin with. Now zat I am used to it, I enjoy zem much more.”

Even though they’d spent most of the evening discussing the way Curie’s Miss Nanny body differed from her synth body, the more he found out about her the more human she seemed. An unsettling idea. More and more often Danse was finding himself forgetting that she _wasn’t_ human, and treating her as though she were.

“Is it strange for you?” Curie asked him. “Dreaming?”

“No; why would it be?”

Curie gave a little shrug. “I ‘ave found zat sometimes people do not like their dreams,” she said. “Many people think zem strange.”

“Well I suppose they can be,” Danse admitted. “They can also be stressful sometimes.”

Curie put her head to one side. “Stressful?”

“Yes, if you have suffered a stressful event like a battle, or the loss of a teammate.”

Her expression turned sympathetic. “Oh, I am sorry,” she said. “‘Ave you lost someone close?” It was too much, to be asked that by a machine.

Cutler’s face, mutated by the FEV virus, swam into view in his mind, and was obliterated with a laser. He stood up suddenly, making Curie jump. “It’s getting late,” he said shortly. “We should both sleep.”

“Paladin Danse, I did not mean to upset you. I am sorry,” said Curie, looking genuinely contrite.

“Be careful not to place your bedroll too close to the fire,” he said, avoiding her eye. “I know it’s tempting, but you will likely set this whole place alight.” With that, he walked over to where he’d placed his own bedroll and climbed in, turning away from the room. He heard nothing for a long moment, and then the sound of Curie getting into her sleeping bag.

 

~*~

 

The bottom had fallen out of Danse’s world, that day. Just a few short weeks earlier Cutty had waved goodbye and winked as he and his team waltzed out the door to their deaths, but his real goodbye to Danse had happened the previous night.

Danse had had a headache, he remembered now. He’d been training with his team in hand to hand, and had taken quite a nasty knock to the head; Proctor Masters had told Danse he’d be fine, if a little sore, but that as a precaution he was to avoid sleeping until the morning. Cutty had drawn Danse into his arms and kissed his forehead gently, and said that he knew of a good way to keep Danse awake. Danse had laughed, protested about the others sleeping only one thin wall away, but when Cutty had pulled him toward the bed his protests had ceased.

He would have pulled that trigger even without being under the orders of the Brotherhood to do so, because he knew that Cutty would rather die than live like… _that_. But there were still nights that Danse awoke in a cold sweat, with Cutty’s face just behind his eyes. It was rare for Danse to shed tears about anything, but keeping them in after one of those dreams was a near impossibility.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All comments and criticism gratefully received, thank you for reading!


	3. Courage Under Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Corvega raiders complicate matters. We've all been there... Curie continues to surprise Danse. Danse begins to surprise himself.

He awoke to the sunlight streaming through the glassless window, and rubbed his eyes. He hadn’t meant to sleep this late. He pushed himself upright and looked over to Curie’s sleeping bag, but it was empty - he glanced around the room to see her poking at the fire. She looked up and smiled.

 

“Good morning Paladin,” she said. “I ‘ave made us some breakfast, would you like some?”

 

They were already going to be starting much later than he would have wished. He was about to shake his head no, but his stomach growled.

 

“What is it?” He asked instead.

 

“I used ze leftover steak and some tatoes to make a stew,” she said. “Eet is not much, but eet smells nice.”

 

He dragged himself from his sleeping bag and packed it away, and went over next to the fire to join her.

 

“You didn’t have to do this,” he said, peering at the stew. She was right, it smelled amazing. She gave a small shrug.

 

“I do not mind. Besides, I was ‘ungry, and I thought you must be as well.”

 

He accepted the bowl she handed him, and began to eat. It was good as it smelled.

 

They ate in silence for a while, as Danse wrestled with himself. _She was just a machine_ , part of him said. _She was owed no kind of courtesy_. _Would you apologise to a terminal?_ But that excuse seemed to be wearing thin. She had done nothing but be good to him, and he had repaid it with terseness and scorn. If her programming was sensitive enough that she could feel hunger and cold, was it really so much of a stretch to imagine that she might feel hurt by things like that? Even if it was just a line of code in her programming, who was he to say that she didn’t interpret it as pain?

 

“I must apologise for my behaviour last night,” he said abruptly before he could talk himself out of it, making her jump. He felt silly saying it, but it seemed to lift a weight from his mind as he spoke. “I was rude to you, and I’m sorry.” She blinked at him.

 

“Please, think nothing of it,” she said, with a soft smile. “I must apologise also. I am still learning ‘ow to talk wiz humans, and I still get some things wrong. I did not mean to offend.”

 

“You didn’t,” said Danse, setting down his empty bowl. “It… It brought back some memories I would rather not think about, but it wasn’t your fault.”

 

“I shall not ask again,” Curie reassured him. Danse nodded stiffly.

 

“Thank you. I would appreciate that.”

 

They packed up their belongings. Danse checked the clip of his laser rifle and climbed back into his Power Armor and they set off, turning south toward Corvega. Danse had wanted to avoid it if possible, but going past the factory was the quickest way to Cambridge from here. A few raiders shouldn’t be much trouble. He unshouldered his rifle as they drew near; there were a few patrolling there roadway outside. A shout and a gunshot - something whistled past his ear.

 

“Oh!” said Curie, stopping in her tracks. He’d been hoping to avoid this. Oh well. A few shots dropped one of the scum, and injured another - he pulled Curie behind a burned out car.

 

“Stay here,” he told her. Her eyes were wide with concern.

 

“But Paladin - ”

 

“I said stay,” he told her, perhaps more sharply than he meant. Something hit the floor next to them and everything turned to smoke and fire - Danse pushed himself up off the floor with a snarl. The raiders’ laughter boiled his blood.

 

“Stand down immediately, on the orders of the Brotherhood of Steel!” he shouted - it was met with laughter.

 

“Not a chance, asshole,” one of them yelled back in a gravelly voice. All right - a fight, then. They would find out first hand why the Brotherhood were so feared, if they so wished. He stood up and began firing, ducked back down behind the car to reload. The raiders’ pipe pistols weren’t doing anything but making noise, he realised with satisfaction. No military training, so they were wasting ammo; Danse was happy to let them. One threw another grenade - whoever it was was a good shot, but Danse kicked it away and turned his back to shield himself and Curie before it blew. As he opened his eyes he realised Curie was lying, unmoving, on the ground behind the car. Blood was pouring from her leg.

 

“Come on out, asshole, let’s blow that bucket off your head!”

 

“Curie?” Danse asked, leaning down to shake her arm. She did not respond. _Shit_.

 

He had no choice - he couldn’t help her in this thing, and she would bleed to death if he didn’t. Making sure he was as covered as possible by the car, he let himself out of his Power Armor and knelt beside her. He had nothing he could use for a tourniquet, so he rummaged through her pack, trying to ignore the bullets that ricocheted in the dust around them. He was counting now on their terrible aim and the cover of the car being enough.

 

“Come on, come on, there must be something,” he muttered, glancing at her leg every now and again. Finally he unearthed a handkerchief, and wrapped it tightly but carefully just above her knee. It would have to do - he didn’t have time for anything else. Keeping low he made for his Power Armor and climbed back in, but not before something hit the back of his shoulder - he stifled a grunt of pain, and continued, lifting his rifle in the direction of the factory.

 

He stood up and fired off a few more shots, but by now the raiders’ turrets had got involved, and were homing in on him. They weren’t especially accurate, but he felt one hit the Power Armor over his already-injured shoulder, and grit his teeth. He was going to have to get closer, draw their fire from her, and hope she survived the battle. With any luck, they hadn’t seen her, and if they had then hopefully they thought she was dead. He threw a glance at her.

 

“Hold on, Curie.” He stood and made a run for the wall, stopping to duck behind other cars as he went, and managed to drop a few more raiders on the way.

 

It took a little while, and as he fought he couldn’t help but worry for her. Was she alive? He hadn’t been able to check before he had been forced to leave to do something about the raiders. His ammunition was beginning to run low. He should have taken her pistol, since she wasn’t able to use it, but he simply hadn’t thought to. Stupid; he should know better than that. He just hoped he hadn’t managed to get himself killed as well - Curie wouldn’t have a hope if he had. The few remaining raiders were starting to sound panicked, which was a good sign. They also seemed to have run out of grenades, or were unwilling to use them at such close range. Danse suspected the former. He stood again to make the final push, and managed to drop the last few.

 

“Curie,” he said under his breath, and ran back to the car the moment he was sure it was safe. She was still lying in the dust unmoving, a crimson pool slowly spreading out beneath her. With a quick glance at Corvega to make sure there were no more raiders waiting to pick him off, he released himself from his Power Armor and knelt down beside her.

 

“Curie?” He checked her pulse - weak, but still there. He wondered wildly what on earth he could do to help her, not knowing how synth bodies worked, but then remembered that they were functionally identical to human bodies. Had he brought any Stimpaks? He ran through his inventory in his head; he didn’t think he had any. Perhaps she did. He went to check her pockets and hesitated - and shook himself. She wouldn’t mind him touching her without permission, saving her life would be considered one of the few good reasons to do so. He patted her down and found a Stimpak on the inside of her coat, pulling it out with an audible sound of relief.

 

Flipping the cap off, he pushed the needle into her arm as gently as he could, and depressed the plunger. Almost immediately her eyes fluttered open, and she gave a groan, pressing her hand to her head.

 

“Oh…”

 

“Lie still,” he told her. “A grenade went off, you’ve been hit in the leg. I’ve managed to stem the bleeding, but I don’t know if one Stimpak is quite going to do it. Do you have any more?”

 

“Oh, it ‘urts,” she said, ignoring him and sitting up. “My leg,” she said, looking down at herself.

 

“Curie,” said Danse, firmly, taking her by the shoulder to get her attention. “Do you have any more Stimpaks?”

 

“I ‘ad one I’m my jacket,” she said, sounding distant.

 

“Yes, I found it and used it,” he told her. “Do you have another?”

 

“I… No,” she said at last. “Paladin, your shoulder,” she said, focusing her gaze on the place where he’d been shot - he’d forgotten about it.

 

“It’s nothing. Damn. Alright, wait here,” he said, and stood. “I’ll see if any of those raiders had any.” Curie nodded, and pressed a ginger hand to her leg and winced, biting her lip.

 

“I will do what I can ‘ere,” she managed. He cast a worried glance over her; she looked pale, but determined. He nodded.

 

“Carry on.”

 

He searched every pocket of every raider he could reach, but not one of them had anything he could use. Danse shook his head, disbelieving. They _always_ carried some! Not all of them, but Knight Raines usually managed to find at least one or two. Before he’d met Raines, Danse hadn’t bothered even looking for Stimpaks, not usually needing them in his armor. His own shoulder thudded dully in time with his heartbeat, and he winced. The flight suit was ruined, between the bullet hole and the blood, and he would have to clean the inside of his Power Armor, too.

 

Well, in the absence of more modern aid, they would have to make the best of it with field medicine. Curie was a doctor and he trained in basic combat medicine like all active duty Brotherhood members, so between them he was sure they could patch themselves up well enough to make it to the Police Station.

 

His jaw twitched at the thought. He could not, in good conscience, leave Curie while he went to Haylen, but equally he could not bring her. He resolved to put off making the decision until they had done what they could with what they had. Perhaps he might be able to take a few extra Stimpaks from Haylen and bring them back to Curie - he would replace them later, of course. Even that didn’t feel right.

 

He sighed and walked back to Curie, one hand clamped around his injured bicep, which was starting to sting now that the adrenaline was wearing off.

 

She had left the tourniquet where it was, and had opened a can of purified water to wash the wound; a large piece of shrapnel still stuck out from it. Without a Stimpak, they would not be able to remove the tourniquet or she would quickly bleed to death, but they couldn’t leave it on too long either. She looked up as he approached. Was it his eyes, or did she seem even paler than before? She hadn’t lost that much more blood, so it could well be a sign of shock.

 

“Did zey ‘ave anything?” She asked, the hope clear in her eyes. Danse shook his head.

 

“I’m afraid not,” he admitted. “I’m sorry.”

 

He watched as the hope drained from her features, her gaze dropped and she nodded.

 

“I… I understand,” she said quietly, and shivered. Another sign of shock.

 

Danse went to his pack and pulled out his sleeping back, unzipping it all the way and folding it out, and brought it back to her to put around her shoulders like a blanket. “Here,” he said. She blinked at him, surprised.

 

“But you will need zis,” she said. He waved a hand.

 

“It doesn’t matter. It can be washed if it gets blood in it,” he said.

 

“No, I meant zat you will need it for your journey.” Danse frowned.

 

“Well we’ll bring it with us,” he pointed out. She wasn’t making much sense. “Drink some water.”

 

She accepted the can, still seeming surprised. He examined her leg; it looked nasty.

 

“‘We’?” she echoed. “Do you mean… Do you mean to take me wiz you?”

 

Danse stared at her, until it clicked. The realisation hit him with the weight of a collapsing skyscraper.

 

“I… Curie, I’m not going to _leave_ you here,” he said, horrified. “I don’t know if I can take you to Haylen, but I’m not going to just abandon you _here_.” He wanted to be offended that she was surprised, but could he? Really? With the way he had acted towards her so far, was it so shocking that she didn’t expect him to help her when she needed it?

 

“Oh,” she said. Then, “… Thank you.” They caught each others’ eyes for an awkward moment. Danse broke the gaze.

 

“What can you do without Stimpaks?” He asked, gesturing to her leg. Curie sighed.

 

“I can remove ze shrapnel and close ze wound,” she said. “I ‘ave a needle and thread. But I will need some antibiotics as soon as possible. And I can pull ze bullet from your shoulder and close zat as well, but I cannot make zem ‘eal.”

 

Danse nodded. “Alright. Then we should get started as soon as possible.”

 

~*~

 

Danse helped her cut off the leg of her pants with his combat knife and Curie cleaned the wound, but as soon as she touched the metal sticking out of it she winced and gave a gasp. Danse looked at her, worried; she looked almost green.

 

“I… I do not know if I can do zis,” she admitted. “I ‘ave done it many times for other patients, but ze pain… It is verry distracting,” she said. She was trying hard not to cry; Danse had seen Brotherhood Knights with lesser wounds who had not been as stoic as she.

 

“Would you like me to do it?” He asked. Curie worried at her lip, and then nodded.

 

“Please,” she said. Her eyes were very dark in her face by now. Danse gave a nod.

 

“Very well. I’ll try to make it quick.”

 

He peered at the wound, to see how best to remove the metal without causing further injury or more pain than he had to; it would not be easy to do quickly. He glanced back at Curie’s face. She looked as though she were barely holding on to consciousness, hair plastered to her head with sweat.

 

“Here,” he said, offering her his good arm. “Squeeze. It’ll help.” She blinked at him nervously, but did as she was told. “Are you ready?” Curie nodded bravely, and Danse pulled out the metal.

 

Curie gave a cry of pain and squeezed Danse’s arm hard enough to hurt, but the metal came free. He wasn’t able to get it out as quickly as he’d wanted to, but at least it came away cleanly. He threw it away from them both. Curie’s cry of pain turned into a slightly hysterical laugh - he looked back at her to see she was staring at her leg, tears threatening to spill from her green eyes.

 

“It’s alright, I got it,” he assured her, and carefully poured some water into the wound, making her hiss through her teeth. Fortunately, the shrapnel did not seem to have severed any major veins or arteries, Danse could see now that the metal was out of the way, though it had penetrated deeply. She would definitely need some antibiotics. They did not have any alcohol; Danse chided himself for not looking for that while he was searching for Stimpaks. “I can sew it up for you, if you want,” he said.

 

“… Thank you,” she managed, sounding exhausted, and flopped back against the roof of the car, pulling Danse’s sleeping bag around her shoulders.

 

He stitched the wound closed as carefully and neatly as he could, with little glances back at Curie’s face from time to time to make sure she was still awake. If she truly was in shock, which was highly likely, it would be dangerous to let her fall unconscious.

 

It was tough, fiddly work, and difficult to do without hurting her. She tried hard not to move around or show how much pain she was in, and Danse couldn’t help but be impressed at her endurance. He honestly would have expected her to fall apart, but it seemed she was made of tougher stuff. Finally, he tied off the thread and sat back, his spine and shoulder aching. “Finished,” he said, and she gave a long sigh.

 

“Thank you,” she said again, breaking into a small smile and closed her eyes. Her shoulders dropped as the tension left them; she looked completely wrung out. “I am so glad zat eet is over!”

 

“Will you be alright while I search the raiders again for some alcohol?”

 

Curie opened her eyes again. “Oh, but Paladin, I must see to your shoulder first,” she protested, but Danse held up a hand.

 

“It’s not serious,” he said. “I’ve been shot before, it can wait. Besides, you need some rest first, or you may do more harm than good.” He had a good feeling that it was only this last that convinced her. She nodded.

 

“Very well,” she said as she leaned back against the car, clearly uneasy about leaving the wound. He gave a quick nod and turned back toward the factory in search of vodka or whiskey.

 

“Try not to fall asleep,” he warned her as he left, knowing she would know why. She gave a nod, and raised her hand. _I will try_.

 

~*~

 

The afternoon was wearing on, and by the time they were finished it would be getting dark. Danse considered making camp where they were, but it was too close to Corvega; there would be more raiders inside, and they had been extremely lucky so far that none of them had come out and found their dead compatriots. He would have to move Curie somewhere safer. He walked back to the car and knelt next to Curie again, holding the half empty bottle of vodka he’d found. The gash looked nasty and would leave a scar, but if she took care of it it would heal.

 

“You won’t like this part,” he told her regretfully, holding up the bottle. She gave a small smile.

 

“I understand,” she said. “Eet is alright.” She hissed when he poured the alcohol over it and her leg jerked - more of a reaction than she’d shown as he’d treated it before.

 

“I’m sorry,” said Danse, and meant it.

 

“Th-think nothing of it,” she managed, and then, “Paladin?” He looked at her, and she held her hand out for the bottle. “May I?”

 

“Alcohol thins the blood and inhibits clotting,” he told her, even as he knew she already knew that.

 

“I know,” she said. “But I am beginning to understand why some of my patients also ask for the same thing.” He hesitated, but gave her the bottle.

 

“Alright, but only a little,” he warned her. Her hand trembled as she lifted the bottle to her lips.

 

“We need to move,” he told her, taking the bottle back. “It’s too dangerous to stay so close to Corvega. Do you think you can stand?”

 

She looked uncertain, but nodded and held out her hand for him to help her up. She winced as she got her weight underneath her. “I cannot go far,” she said; she was leaning on him so heavily that he already understood this without needing her to tell him.

 

He helped her lean against the car and retrieved his Power Armor and their packs; he shouldered his own and gave Curie hers. “Put it on,” he told her, “and I’ll carry you.”

 

“… Paladin,” she began, but he held up a hand to forestall her.

 

“It’s no trouble, and we’ll move quicker that way.” He had been prepared for this. It had seemed unlikely that she could move far unaided, and he had plenty of carry weight left before he would be hampered. “Just have your gun ready.”

 

Curie nodded and let him lift her into his arms.

 

He skirted as close to Corvega as he dared to get around it, moving away as soon as he could. There was a copse of trees not far ahead; that should hide them from anyone - or anything - that was nearby, and they could rest there overnight and continue on in the morning. Danse would wait to see how she was then before deciding whether to take her to the Police Station or not.

 

He knew he was putting off thinking about it, but it was looking likely that he would have to take her right to Haylen and Rhys. Which would mean concealing that Curie was a synth, or he knew Rhys at least would attack them both. If it came to it, he would keep Curie safe until he could get her back to Sanctuary, and then go back to the Prydwen to confess his crime and prostrate himself before Elder Maxson. Under any other Elder he would have been thrown out of the Brotherhood for knowingly aiding a synth and failing to retrieve it for study, but he had a feeling that Maxson might have him killed. The Institute was the Brotherhood’s greatest enemy here in the Commonwealth, and concealing Curie from Elder Maxson - taking deliberate steps to ensure that they couldn’t have her - would be tantamount to treason. He looked at Curie, who was beginning to doze in his arms.

 

Was this worth it? Even if he conceded that she could feel pain, she was still a machine. If he had any sense he would deposit her at the nearest settlement and leave her there. He had already gone too far, and was making it worse with every step. While he was treating her, he had not had room in his head to think of anything else and had done it mostly out of habit instilled by his training. Now, he wasn’t sure exactly what it was that continued to propel him forward.

 

They reached the copse and Danse set Curie down on her feet gently, making sure she could lean against a tree while he reconnoitred the area. Satisfied that there was nothing there, and that they were far enough from Corvega that any raiders who found the other bodies now would not bother to come looking this far, he returned and helped her down to the ground.

 

“How are you feeling?” He asked as she settled. She gave him a smile; she looked tired.

 

“Eet is still a little sore,” she said. “But much better, thank you.” The sun was sinking below the horizon by now, and a chill wind was beginning to blow. Danse was reluctant to light a fire; if the raiders did come looking, it would be a flashing neon sign. He considered.

 

“Do we have any food?” He asked; Curie pulled her pack towards her.

 

“Yes,” she said. “Zere is a can of Cram and I ‘ave a couple of mutfruits.” She held them up.

 

“Outstanding. Let’s get that started, and then set up camp.”

 

~*~

 

Once the food was eaten it was almost full dark; he had explained about the fire while they ate, to Curie’s disappointment, but acceptance. He removed the sleeping bags from their packs while Curie rubbed her arms to keep warm.

 

“Oh!” She said suddenly. “Your shoulder! I must insist zat you let me bandage it for ze evening,” she said.

 

“It really isn’t necessary,” Danse protested, but Curie would not hear it.

 

“We are sleeping on zis dirty ground,” she said. “I cannot see to remove ze bullet now zat it is dark, but I must at least cover it to prevent infection.” Danse sighed.

 

“Very well,” he said, and sat down next to her. After a moment he looked back at her over his shoulder.

 

“Well?”

 

“I… You must remove your flight suit,” she said, and then, “I do not mean entirely! I cannot reach ze wound.” Danse hesitated, and then closed his fingers around the zipper and pulled it down to his navel. Curie helped him ease the shoulder part down to his elbow to expose the bullet hole. He hissed as she touched it, gently.

 

“I am sorry,” she said. “I did not mean to ‘urt you. Please, pass me zat can of purified water.”

 

He sat and tried not to tense up while she washed the wound and tied a relatively clean piece of cloth around it, and pulled his flight suit back up as soon as she was finished.

 

“Thank you,” he said stiffly.

 

“Eet was my pleasure,” she told him. “I am glad to be able to return ze favour,” she clarified hurriedly.

 

He didn’t know what to say to that, so they sat in uncomfortable silence for a moment.

 

“We should probably sleep,” said Danse at last. “You must be exhausted.”

 

“Yes,” Curie agreed, sounding relieved. “Sleep is ze best medicine.” They pulled their sleeping bags next to each other; Danse waited until she was busy getting into hers to pull his just a few inches back. When he lay down he tried to ignore her shivering, but after a while it became clear that his conscience would not allow him to sleep until he did something about it. He sat up.

 

“You’re cold,” he said. “It’s not good with an injury like yours. We… must share,” he made himself say. Curie turned over in her sleeping bag.

 

“Really, I am quite alright,” she said, but he was already standing up.

 

“Unzip your sleeping bag. We will sleep between them.” He set about unzipping his own and laying it out flat on the ground, trying not to think too hard about what he was about to do. Curie seemed to hesitate; if she refused he didn’t think he could bring himself to make her, but it was necessary. He would not have suggested it were it not so. At last she sat up, still shivering, and did as he asked.

 

After a few minutes of awkward shuffling, and Danse not knowing where to put his hands, they lay together under Curie’s sleeping bag. Her skin was cold, but he could feel her starting to relax a little now that they were sharing body heat.

 

“Thank you, Paladin,” she said quietly after a while. “You ‘ave been so kind.”

 

“Think nothing of it,” he said, and then realised that this was what _she_ said when someone thanked her. He hoped she wouldn’t notice his accidental adoption of the phrase, and resolved to be careful not to use it again.

 

“And… I am sorry, for insisting zat I come wiz you on zis journey,” Curie added. “I regret zat I ‘ave been a liability rather than an asset.”

 

“You were not at fault,” Danse told her, even though it wasn’t true. If she had stayed in Sanctuary he would be at the Police Station by now, finding out whatever it was Haylen had dragged him all the way out here for. “And… You were very courageous today,” he told her, before he even really knew he was going to say it. “I’ve seen decorated soldiers with lesser injuries who handled it far worse.”

 

“… Thank you,” said Curie after a moment, during which he began to wonder if she’d heard him. “I ‘ad already caused so much trouble, I was determined not to make myself any more of an inconvenience. It was verry difficult, I… I ‘ave never experienced such pain. I wonder ‘ow humans stand it. Are you not always afraid to be ‘urt? ‘Ow do you get anything done?”

 

It hit Danse that she must never have been injured like that before. Of course she hadn’t; she’d only had a synth body that was capable of feeling pain for a little while. Injuries like hers - and worse - were so commonplace in the Wastelands, it was rare to find someone who didn’t have a few impressive scars. So today had been her first experience with real pain - how had she held herself together the way she had, while enduring the worst pain of her life?

 

“It’s… It’s just part of life,” he said, mostly to fill the gap while he processed this.

 

“I think it is one of my least favourite things about zis body,” said Curie. “Zere are many wonderful things, but pain like zis… Eet is not one of zem. But I will learn from zis, and apply it to my medical practices in ze future to ensure zat my patients experience as leetle pain as possible.”

 

The more Danse thought about the last thing she’d said, the more he found himself forced to re-examine his ideas about synths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YOU CAN PRY THE "WE HAVE NO CHOICE BUT TO SHARE THIS SLEEPING BAG" TROPE FROM MY COLD DEAD HANDS
> 
> Also yes I am naming the chapters after 90s movies


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